


While My Guitar Gently Weeps

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, The Quidditch Pitch: School Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-11
Updated: 2006-01-11
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Sirius believes Remus is spying.  Sirius can't believe Remus is spying





	While My Guitar Gently Weeps

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Originally for my [Come Together](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ficbymarks&keyword=Come+Together&filter=all) series of fics.  


* * *

Staring at the sleeping form of Remus, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Here he is, in my bed, as he has been nearly every night since we were sixteen years old. Yet, over the past six months, I think I can't count the number of times we've made love on one hand. Sometimes I try kissing him and he responds briefly before pulling away from the touch. Then, he smiles that serene, vague smile - Remus shorthand for "Leave me the fuck alone or I'm taking the world when I go!" 

Other times, he'll perch on the edge of the tub as I shower. I'll recognise the lust in his eyes and when I allow myself, my eyes will drift lower and I'll see the tightness in his trousers. When he bothers to wear trousers at all, that is. Yet, I find myself approximating that same calm Remus smile and turn away, leaving him to watch my arse, panting and unfulfilled. 

Panting and showering used to go together in a completely different way. I remember one afternoon in our seventh year when we'd first discovered the joy of water sports. Shivering slightly, I picture a naked, soaped-up Remus on his knees, staring up at me, never breaking eye contact. When we emerged forty-five minutes later, both very, very clean, James was glaring at us from his bed. He'd had to pee so badly that he'd used an old butterbeer bottle to take care of his business. I laugh to myself, remembering Remus's soft voice pointing out that as Head Boy, James now had access to the Prefects' Bathroom. James had gaped, muttered "I hate you" and pulled the curtains around his bed, embarrassed. I laughed so loudly that James had threatened to cast a Permanent Silencing Charm on me. 

A lock of hair has fallen onto Remus's forehead. Absently, I push it away and he moans slightly at the touch, never waking. 

The memory turns my thoughts to James and, by extension, Lily and Harry. They've been placed under the Fidelius and asked me to be their Secret Keeper. I couldn't do it. "Get Peter," I pleaded. How could I be their Secret Keeper when I suspect the man I share a bed with - the one I _love_ \- is a traitor? It's someone close to us, that much the Order has determined. 

He's a Dark Creature. A werewolf. In school, we saw him as sickly and quiet. Studious and smart. Certainly never anything different than us. I'm a firm believer in the fact that you can rise above the lot life has cast you. It's what made me fall in love with him in the first place. But maybe whatever's always been inside him has bubbled to the surface. He simply can't ignore what he is forever. I can't think of him hurting James and Lily, though. I especially can't see him hurting my godson. It pains me to look at him now. 

A vision of Remus's face floats to the surface. My brain wills my heart to push it away again, as I try not to think of Remus with his eyes closed tightly, his lower lip swollen and red because he's been biting it, crying out my name, as my hand strokes rhythmically up and down. I feel myself grow hard and I hate myself for it. Glancing down at Remus's face, vulnerable in sleep, I know I can't look at him like this, either. 

I pad to the kitchen for water. The floor is dusty. There are dishes piled in the sink. Idly, I wonder when we last cleaned. It's been a long time. A long, long time. I slowly clean a glass, fill it with water and promptly fling it across the room. The glass shatters into a million pieces. 

Footsteps thump across the ceiling. "Sirius?" calls a voice, thick with sleep, from the floor above me. 

"Just a glass. Go back to bed," I reply. The footsteps retreat and I hear the bed creak. 

Sitting down at the kitchen table, I fold my arms in front of me and lay my head on them. Then I cry. I cry. I cry. 


End file.
